For Ashley
by chartreuseian
Summary: He knows he should have been able to do it. She shouldn't be standing in front of him with a vial of blood. It's his fault that she is. He failed her. He failed her and her blonde haired, blue eyed daughter. He failed. ONESHOT


**This has been sitting on my computer for a few weeks now but I'm still dubious about publishing it. I think it might be a little hard to follow but that could just be because I've read it too often. Anyway, let me know what y'all think. It's been a while since I've written something in this particular style so I'd really appreciate feedback :)**

**Very clearly set during 'End of Nights' so, ya know, spoiler alert.**

**Written to How to Save a Life by The Fray because, ever since I heard it on Grey's Anatomy, I've been addicted to it. Plus it fits.**

**Don't own it. If I did I'd share it all with you.**

**Enjoy**

**xx**

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><p>He can't do it. He knows he can't and she knows but they both know he'll try. He'll try not because of the past, because of the Five or because it's Druitt's daughter and the man would put up a very good show of ripping him limb from limb. He'll try not because of the remnants of a friendship that's long been buried and only recently dug up again, not because he owes it to her, not even because he loves her. He'll try because it's Ashley and it's not fair. No one should have to kill their own mother.<p>

So he'll try. He'll try for the blonde he's never really met but who is so much like her mother that he wonders if they take their tea the same way (because he's had to brew more cups than he cares to remember). He can't imagine her daughter _not _drinking tea, even if she does pack a pretty mean punch. He knows so little about her but it doesn't matter. He knows she makes Helen's eyes burn with an intensity that has never been matched. She makes Helen bitter and twisted and fiercely protective in a way that he's never seen before.

And she makes Helen smile, which is the most important thing.

And he did try, he really did. She knows it and he knows it. But it didn't work. And they both know why. She tells him that she doesn't blame him but he blames himself and that's enough. He blames himself so she doesn't have to try and deal with the guilt that blame would encourage. He thinks he should have worked harder, faster. He thinks he should have been able to do it. He knows he should have been able to do it. She shouldn't be standing in front of him with a vial of blood. It's his fault that she is. He failed her. He failed her and her blonde haired, blue eyed daughter.

He failed.

And now, as much as he wants to fail, he knows he won't. Or can't. Either way, it doesn't matter because he will succeed. He worked all night to fail and he will work all night and, now he will succeed. This the one time that success will not taste sweet, he thinks as he builds the very thing that will tear them apart. He knows it's selfish but he can't help but hate this machine for the fact that it will rip apart what is left of 'them'. He loves her, he truly does but he is going to kill her daughter and he knows that, no matter how hard he tries, that is a wrong that will never, ever be forgiven. He will do what she asks, he will build the machine, he will give her the means to kill her own daughter even though it means she will never be able to love him back. There may have been a chance, a slim chance that one day, one day far into the future she'd hear his words again and know that he spoke the truth but not any more. They might get back to the flirting, to the banter but he knows that they both know it will never be anything more than that, it can't be anything more because he is doing this for her. Because he is doing as she asks, they will never be more than what they are now, as much as he'd like to pretend otherwise. As much as he'd like to pretend, they will never get past this, they will pretend sure, but this will break what is left of both their hearts.

He will build the very thing that will destroy his heart. And hers.

But he will do it. For the girl who is no longer herself. For the girl who has lost her humanity. For the girl he thinks he could have been friends with. He knows they would have gotten on well. After all, she was such a perfect blend of the two people he'd been closest to. Before the blood it had been Helen, always Helen. And then, when she'd announced her engagement, he'd tried hard to be civil to John. And sometimes he'd succeeded. He'd been attracted to Helen because of her mind and dazzling beauty but his friendship with John had been based on something all together more tangible. An understanding of where each man stood. Not an acceptance because he would never have been able to do that but an understanding that neither of them could ever harm Helen, an understanding that, no matter what, they'd be there for her. They would always protect her. So John and Nikola had bantered and fought and bickered but, despite the danger the man presented, he had a deep respect for John. Or he had had a deep respect for John.

Murder tends to dry that up quite nicely.

And he could see John in Ashley. That outspoken nature, the need for action. Of course, those things came from Helen too but Ashley had inherited other traits from her mother. Her tenacity, her intelligence, her dry humour. There was something about the younger woman, mutated or otherwise that spoke of Helen, that provided a vivid reminder of the woman he'd met all those years ago. So fiery, so headstrong, so beautiful. Oh yes, he and Ashley would have got on well. He lamented the loss he was about to create, the loss of a friend that never really was. He never knew her but he knew he was about to miss her dearly. He was about to miss that spark in Helen's eye. He was about to miss the pride with which she spoke of her daughter. He was about to miss the fear her young daughter was able to conjure up within her. He was about to miss the girl he never knew. And something told him it would be one of those aching, nagging losses.

It was going to hurt.

So with a heavier heart than he'd ever imagined he'd experience, he built the weapon. He'd found a way to kill her. He knew he would. She knew he would. That's why she asked him and no one else. He wonders if she asked him because she cares about him but he knows that's not it. She asked him because he was the one person she could allow herself to feel angry at. He is the one person she can blame this on without any repercussions. She can cut him out of her life and nothing will change. Except for the fact that she will no longer have a daughter. She will cut him out and he will gladly go because he couldn't be around her. Because he'd blame himself too. He would be responsible for the death of a young woman who had been transformed against her will. He couldn't be around Helen because he couldn't hurt her anymore than he was about to. He created the weapon only because she asked. And as much as he said he wouldn't hurt her, he would. He will. He will hurt her because she needs someone to blame, she needs someone to hate.

He knows that once it is done he will run away and she will be glad. He will pretend to be fine and she will not contact him. She will never contact him and it breaks his heart. It hurts him because, no matter how hard he tries, nothing will make up for this. Nothing will undo the deed he has done. And he's fairly certain she doesn't want it to.

Maybe if he'd worked harder.

But he didn't.

And now it's all over.


End file.
